


The Young Kraken and the Pack of Wolves

by Sofisol612



Series: Consequences of an Iron Victory [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence - Red Wedding, Coming of Age, F/M, Family, Justice, Pregnancy, Self-Sacrifice, Sexual Content, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, War Of The Five Kings, Winter, tourney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6247735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sofisol612/pseuds/Sofisol612
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after Robb's return to Winterfell, Robert Baratheon comes to visit his old friend Ned, and he has a proposal for him. But King Balon Greyjoy has an offer for him too, and Lord Stark doesn't wish to slight any of them. Whatever he does, his decision will bring big consequences for his family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Catelyn

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [La manada de lobos y el joven kraken](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5664385) by [Sofisol612](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sofisol612/pseuds/Sofisol612). 



> This is a sequel of 'Wolf orKraken?'. If you haven't read it, you may not make much sense out of this fic. It starts about a month after the last chapter of 'Wolf or Kraken?', In Winterfell.

Catelyn’s chamber was warm, even without any fire lit. The heavy blankets that covered her up to her breasts made her feel a little too hot for her comfort, even more so after her lovemaking session with her lord husband. Doubtlessly he felt the same as her, because he got out of the bed and walked to the window.

“I will refuse him,” said Ned as he opened the window to let some air in. His eyes were haunted and his voice thick with doubt.

Catelyn sat up in the bed to look at him. “You cannot. You _must_ not.”

“My duties are here in the North. I have no wish to be Robert’s Hand.”

“He will not understand that. If you refuse to serve him, he will wonder why, and sooner or later he will begin to suspect that you oppose him. Can’t you see the danger that would put us in?”

Ned shook his head. “Robert would never harm me or any of mine. We were closer than brothers. If I refuse him, he will curse, roar and rage for a while, and in a week we will laugh about it together. I know the man!”

“You knew the man,” she agreed. “Yet the king is a stranger to you. Pride is everything to a king, my lord. Robert has come a very long way to see you and bring you these great honors. You cannot throw them back in his face.”

“Honors?” Ned laughed bitterly.

“Yes, Ned, “she said, getting impatient now. “He offers his own son in marriage to our daughter, what else would you call that? Sansa might one day be queen of all the lands between Dorne and the Wall. What is so wrong with that?”

“Sansa is only eleven, Cat,” he complained, climbing back to the bed. “And we don’t even know Joffrey.”

“He is Crown Prince and heir to the Iron Throne. And I was only 12 when my father promised me to your brother Brandon.”

“Brandon,” Ned said bitterly. “Yes, Brandon would know what to do. He was the one meant to have you and Winterfell, and be father to queens. I never asked for this cup to pass to me.”

“Perhaps not,” Catelyn agreed. “Yet Brandon is now dead and the cup has passed, and you must drink from it, like it or not.”

“You would have me take Robert’s 'honors' so as not to risk his wrath, yet for that I would have to turn King Balon down,” her husband noted.

The king of the Iron Islands had sent them a letter some days before in which he expressed his wish to betroth his son to their eldest daughter. And Catelyn could not deny that the Greyjoy was more likely than Robert Baratheon to take offense from a refusal, even though Robb had told her that the match had been Theon’s notion and not the king’s.

“That is not true. You could try to please them both,” Catelyn suggested, looking up at him.

Ned glanced at her, puzzled. “I can hardly betroth Sansa to both Prince Joffrey and Prince Theon.”

“That you certainly cannot do,” she agreed. “But we have two daughters. We could promise Sansa to Theon and Arya to Joffrey.”

“ _Gods_ , Cat! Arya is still a _child_ ,” Lord Eddard objected, climbing back into the bed, next to her. “She is too young, and far from ready for this.”

“They are not going to get married tomorrow, my love,” she reminded him. “It’s just a betrothal.”

“Still, I don’t think Arya will like it.”

Catelyn didn’t think so either: Arya was not the kind of girl who dreamed of marrying a handsome prince and becoming his princess. She liked to play with boys and make friends, but nothing more than that. Yet Catelyn knew that it would have to change one day, and Arya would have to marry some time, and wedding her to a young prince was probably the best they could do for her. She was about to say so to her lord husband when Desmond interrupted them, reporting that the maester was without and insisted to be shown in.

“Very well. Send him in,” he accepted. He went to the wardrobe and slipped on a heavy robe. Catelyn suddenly felt cold and pulled the furs up to her chin. The maester came in.  
He waited for the door to close behind him, and only after did he speak. “My lord, pardon me for disturbing your rest,” he said to Ned. “But I have been sent a message.”

Luwin told them about a mysterious wooden box he had found in his observatory, with a lens inside, and the message he had found concealed in the box. He had not read its content, for it was not for his eyes, but hers. So he came to her and left the paper on the table beside the bed and started to retreat, but Ned commanded him to stay.

Her hands trembled as she reached out to pick the letter. The furs dropped out, leaving her skin exposed. The letter was sealed with a blue wax, and she recognized the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn. “It’s from Lysa,” she informed her husband.

He frowned and his face darkened, yet he told her to open it. She did, but it took her some time to make some sense out of the lines she read. Then she remembered the private language they had made up when they were girls, and the message started to reveal.

She got up from the bed and went across the room. Maester Luwin averted his eyes and Ned looked shocked. She approached the hearth and quickly lit a fire, then tossed the letter into the flames. Eddard stood up and walked to her. He helped her to her feet and then held her tight. “My lady, tell me! What was in that message?” He demanded.

“A warning,” she said softly.

Lysa claimed his husband had been murdered by the Lannisters, she proceeded to explain. And that left them no choice: Ned had to go south and be Robert’s Hand, so that he could find the truth. He still refused, though, so it fell on maester Luwin to convince him. After that, they kept quiet and let him bid his silent farewell to the home he loved.  
When he was ready, he sat on a chair by the fire and told her that she should stay in Winterfell when he went south. She felt his icy words as an arrow piercing her heart.

“No,” she said, suddenly afraid. If he left, she might not see him ever again.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “You must govern the North in my stead, while I run Robert’s errands. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Robb is fourteen. He will soon be a man grown. He must learn how to rule, and I won’t be here for him. Make him part of your councils. He must be ready when the time comes.” Then he turned to the maester. “Maester Luwin, I trust you as I would my own blood. Give my wife your voice in all things, and teach my son what he needs to know.”

Luwin nodded and then there was silence, until Cat found the courage to ask the question whose answer she most dreaded. “What of the other children?”

“Rickon is too young,” he said gently. “And, if we mean to agree to King Balon’s offer, Sansa should stay here as well. But Arya and Bran I would take with me.”

“I could not bear it,” Catelyn said, trembling.

“You must,” he said. “Joffrey won’t be in King’s Landing now, but it won’t hurt Arya to meet her future home and learn the ways of the southern court.”

Catelyn knew he was right. Arya was in desperate need for refinement if she was to become a princess, and spending some time at court would help her with that. Reluctantly, she let go of her in her heart. But not Bran.

“Yes, my love, I can see that,” she said. “But please, for the love you bear me, let Bran remain in Winterfell. He is only seven.”

“I was eight when my father sent me to foster at the Eyrie,” he told her. “Bran will be fine at court, I think. He would love it: he longs for adventure and new places to explore. And he is of an age with Prince Tommen. Let them grow together and become friends, as Robert and I did. Our House will be safer for it.”

She knew it was true, but it didn’t make it easier to bear. She took a deep breath and bravely said “Keep him off the walls, then. You know how he loves to climb.” Ned kissed her tears from her eyes before they could fall.

The matter was settled, yet there was another thing to discuss. Maester Luwin asked Lord Eddard what he should do about his bastard son, Jon Snow. Catelyn tensed when she heard that name. Ned felt her anger and pulled away. She would not have him with her, yet he didn’t dare take him to court.

The maester was the one to find a solution to the problem he had posed: Jon could join the Night’s Watch. He had already expressed his wishes to do so, and it was as good a choice as any, for him. But Catelyn knew that her voice would not be welcome, so she let Ned and maester Luwin figure all that out alone. In the end, Ned said he would talk to Jon when the time came, and Catelyn promised to tell the girls about their betrothals.

She never knew when her lord husband talked to his bastard, but she informed their daughters of their plans for them the following morning. She asked them to join her for a walk after breakfast, and they were very happy to do so. They decided to take their direwolves with them. Catelyn was amazed to notice how they had grown in mere weeks: they were now as big as adult hunting dogs.

“Sansa, Arya, there is something I need to tell you,” she began when they got out. The girls looked up at her, startled by her sudden formality. “Your father has been named Hand of the King. This means he will be traveling to King’s Landing soon. He might not be coming back for many years.”

“But, why?” Arya complained.

“Can’t we go with him?” Sansa wanted to know.

“He cannot refuse the king, Arya,” she explained her younger daughter. “Your father must do as king Robert bids him. He says you should go with him.” Then she turned to Sansa. “As for you, my dear, I’m afraid you must stay. Your father has other plans for you.”

“And what plans are these?” Sansa asked, both angry and disappointed.

“Your lord father means to betroth you to Prince Theon Greyjoy. He thinks it would be better for you to remain in Winterfell for as long as he does.” Lady Catelyn looked back at her daughter. She was quiet now and staring down at her feet. “Sansa, do you not like Prince Theon?” She asked her, concerned. She would not force her child into a marriage she didn’t want.

“I do like him,” Sansa replied, blushing. “He is a handsome, good humored young man. But he is much older than me… I don’t know how… how I can make him love me.”

“You don’t need to,” Arya said scornfully, as if Sansa’s insecurity was stupid. “You are already betrothed.”

“They are,” Catelyn told Arya, giving her a stern look. “Yet love does not always come with marriage. But don’t worry,” she told her eldest daughter now. “Prince Theon already likes you.”

“And how do you know that?” Sansa’s eyes gleamed with surprise, excitement and hope.

“Because the betrothal was his own notion.”

“So, the prince said he wishes to marry me? Am I going to be a princess then?” Sansa was thrilled and delighted with the idea. “When shall we wed?”

“Not for many years,” she cut her, though she was careful to say it kindly. “You must have your flowering first. And then you should wait at least one more year, to be certain you are ready.”

“Why does father want me to go with him?” Arya asked, not very interested in her sister’s betrothal.

“Well, Arya, your father and I have been talking about this for a while. We decided that it would be good for you to see the court and know the customs of the south. Living in King’s Landing might achieve what the septa Mordane couldn’t do here: to teach you to behave like a proper lady.” Catelyn didn’t want to tell her of her betrothal to Prince Joffrey yet; she knew that nothing good would come of it. It would have to wait until she was older, and more willing to accept it.

“But I don’t want to be a lady!” Arya shouted, suddenly annoyed. “And King’s Landing won’t change that!”

“Well, you _are_ a lady, whether you want it or not,” she told her, calmly yet firmly.

“I am not!” Arya yelled. She did not give Catelyn time to scold her. She just turned away and ran into the godswood, with Nymeria running after her.

“I will never understand her,” Sansa said lightly as she walked with her mother back to the castle.

Catelyn sighed. She would have to tell Ned of this and send him after Arya. If the gods were good, he would change her mind about going to King’s Landing. However, she knew that her daughter was likelier to remain reluctant and see it as a punishment. She prayed silently for her husband to find a way to make their daughter understand.


	2. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place many months after the previous one, in Winterfell. During that time, in King's Landing, Ned investigated the circumstances of Jon Arryn's death and got to the same conclusions as in A Game of Thrones. He made practically the same decisions that in the book and, in the end, Cersei arrested him. Arya escaped, but no one in her family knows that.

She was alone in her room, working on a high rose-shaped embroidered collar for a new gown, when she heard the raised voices of men and the noise of the portcullis going up. She looked out the window to see them, even though she already knew who they were with no need of seeing their pierced-sun banners. The Karstarks were the last to arrive. The others were either already in Winterfell, or waiting for Robb in their own keeps to join him once he was on his way. It was better that way, Sansa knew. There were already too many people in Winterfell, and there was no room left for more. Not even the Great Hall had been big enough for them: Robb had had to feast all the important lords separately.

Sansa had been to all the feasts and had been given a place of honor, to Robb’s left. The seat at his right was Bran’s, for he was heir to Winterfell after Robb. She had seen how the bannermen tested Robb, demanding him honors, questioning his rights and ability to command them and telling him he was a green boy. Somehow, Robb managed to answer courteously to all of them and make them bend to his will. She was impressed by the way his brother accomplished to win the respect of those lords, who had previously decided to mock him. However, what amazed Sansa the most was Lady Maege Mormont. She was dressed in plate and mail, just like the men, and she meant to fight with them. Robb didn’t seem so stunned, though, and made no inquiry as to her battle skills.

She left the fabric on which she was working on her desk and stood up. She usually liked needlework, but since that her friend Jeyne had gone to King’s Landing she had no one to talk to while she worked, and it was not so entertaining.

She wondered if she would do well to go and greet the Karstarks, but decided against it; Robb could perfectly do it by himself. If she went there, the only thing she would do would be to make them wonder about her age and whether she could marry their sons one day, and she didn’t want to. She was already betrothed, and happy about it.

When she left her room, then, she didn’t go to the gates, but to the sept. It was deserted, even now that the castle was so crowded, because very few of them worshipped the Seven. Sansa believed both in the old gods and in the new, but she preferred the seven by far. They had names and faces and songs and, except maybe for the Stranger, they weren’t scary like the face of the heart tree in the godswood.

She knelt on the floor before the stone figure of the crone, lit a candle and prayed. “Please, lead my brother through a safe path. Don’t let him ride to his death. Watch over him. And over Theon, too.” The wrinkled face looked down at her, and Sansa hoped she had listened.

She knew her grandfather had left Winterfell once to go to King’s Landing, and so had her uncle Brandon. None of them had returned. Her father had also gone south, with Arya, and they hadn’t returned either. All the news they had got were contradictory, and the only thing that was certain was that her father had been taken captive. Their lady mother had left too, and she didn’t seem to be coming back anytime soon. Now Robb wanted to march south as well, and that could mean both their father’s death and his own. That scared her more than she was willing to admit. She preferred to act strong and confident around Robb and Theon, so as not to make them feel uncomfortable, and around her younger brothers, to sooth them and calm them down.

She went then to the mother’s statue and lit another candle. “Mother, have mercy on my brother, and the men that will ride with him. Stay the swords and the arrows that would harm them, and let them return safe to their homes and families.” She also prayed for the queen to have mercy on his father and not kill them when she heard that Robb had called the banners. The Mother looked at her with a kind, understanding face.

Lastly, she knelt before the Father, and prayed for him to judge her parents, her brother and her betrothed justly. She prayed for the ones with the most righteous cause to win, for she was sure it was them.

There was nothing else she wished to ask any of the gods, so she rose and left the sept. She was going to go to the library to find some love story to read, but she was stopped by Robb before she could get there.

“Sansa, the Kartarks have arrived,” he announced.

“I know. I have seen them. But I thought you would want to greet them yourself.”

“Yes, I have already welcomed them to Winterfell. But I’ll have to discuss some serious matters with the bannermen.” He looked serious and formal then; he was speaking as her lord, not as her brother. “I’ll need you to act host at tonight’s feast for Lord Karstark’s sons and honored friends.”

“I will if you wish. Do you mean to march soon?”

“In a few days, if the gods are good,” he answered. “Now that we are all here, we only have to get everything ready to go. Well, I have to go and train now. Good luck with the feast!”

“Good luck to you too,” she said, thinking of the battles he would have to fight.

That night she took Robb’s place at the head of the table, and Bran was placed in his customary place, to her right. Everyone else was already seated and waiting for them, talking idly when she arrived, but they all fell quiet as she and her brother came in. She could feel all the eyes on them. It made her uneasy. They would surely have preferred to be feasted by Robb, and they would not think much of her, a girl of 2-and-10 who knew nothing of battles.

“I welcome you to our fires,” she told them, trying to sound confident and natural, “and offer you meat and mead in honor of our friendship.”  
Harrion Karstark and his younger brothers rose and bowed respectfully to her and her little brother, yet as they settled back in their places she could hear the younger 2 talking in hushed voices. They weren’t speaking about her; it was Bran they were concerned with. They said he was broken. She glanced and him and could tell quickly that he had heard them because of his downcast face.

“I don’t want to be broken,” he whispered fiercely to her and to maester Luwin, who was seated in front of him, to her left. “I want to be a knight.”

Sansa already knew that. Her little brother had dreamed of being a knight since he was a baby like Rickon, just as she had always dreamed of becoming a princess. It only made it all sadder.

“You will surely find something else you could become,” she tried to comfort him. “You can build a keep of your own, like Brandon the Builder. Or you can become a septon.”

“There are some who call my order the knights of the mind,” Luwin said. “You are a surpassing clever boy when you work at it, Bran. Have you ever thought that you might wear a maester’s chain? There is no limit to what you might learn.”

“I want to learn magic,” Bran told them. “The crow promised that I would fly.”

Luwin sighed and Sansa looked down to her plate. Bran had told her all about his frightening dreams; about the fall and the crow that talked. She guessed there should be some meaning hidden in them, but no matter how hard they tried they could find none at all.

“I can teach you history, healing, the speech of the ravens and how to build a castle, and at the Citadel of Oldtown they can teach you a thousand things more.” Luwin told him. “But, Bran, no man can teach you magic.”

“The children could,” he said. “The children of the forest.”

Then he told them something the wildling woman Osha had told him that morning. It was a scary and unbelievable story about dead things that walked North of the Wall and killed every living thing they came across. He said Robb should be taking his army North instead of south.

A shiver ran down Sansa’s spine. She hadn’t believed in those stories for years now, but Osha was a woman grown, and she had come from beyond the Wall. If she said such things existed… There was no way to prove her wrong.

“The wildling woman could give Old Nan lessons on storytelling,” the maester said when Bran was done talking. “I will talk to her if you like, but it would be best if you did not trouble your brother with this folly. He has already more than enough to concern him. It’s the Lannisters that hold your father, child, not the Others, the giants or the children of the forest.”

And 2 days later everything was ready and it was time for farewells. After learning that Old Nan and maester Luwin had failed to convince Rickon to go down and see his older brother off she decided to go to his room and try it herself.

She found him sitting on his bed, red-eyed and defiant. “Our brother is leaving today. Won’t you go down and say farewell to him?”

“No!” He shouted. “NO farewell!”

“He will not be coming back for a long time,” she told him, calmly. “The fighting might take more than a year. Are you sure you don’t want to say goodbye?”

“I will never see him again!” He cried. “No one ever comes back!”

“That’s not true,” she said gently, walking to his bed. “Robb will free Father and then he will come back home. And Mother will come too.”

Rickon remained silent, his face hidden between his knees. Sansa sat beside him and stroke his hair lightly. “I know you want him to stay safe, at home, with us. If truth be told, I would also prefer him to stay. That’s because we love him, and we want him to be fine. And that’s why we should go down and bid him farewell.”

The boy looked up at her. “Why? It won’t change anything. He’ll go all the same,” her brother replied. He was not shouting now, Sansa noticed.

“He will go,” she agreed, “but that doesn’t mean it won’t change anything. If you go and see him off it might be that sometime in the future, when Robb is fighting in a battle and surrounded by foes, he will remember the moment when his little brother said goodbye to him, waving his hand at him at Winterfell’s gates. And then he will remember that you are here, waiting for him, and that could help him find some hidden courage to fight his way back home.”

“Do you really think so?” He asked, wanting to believe.

“Of course,” she told him with a smile. “Will you come, then?”

“Yes,” he said, holding her hand and getting off the bed, “I will.”

They went there quickly, as they knew Robb would like to leave early. When they got to the yard beneath the gatehouse they saw that Bran was already there, mounted on Dancer. Robb was mounted on a shaggy grey stallion, and he was armed with his shield, a sword and a dagger.

“You are the lord in Winterfell now,” he was telling Bran. “You must take my place, as I took Father’s, until we come home.”

“I know,” Bran replied miserably.

“Listen to maester Luwin’s counsel,” he advised him. “Sansa, Rickon, I thought you wouldn’t come,” their brother told them when he noticed them. “Sansa, you will be the oldest one of the family left, now. Take care of Bran and Rickon.”

“I will,” she promised. “Come back soon.” _With Father and Mother, please._

“I will, too,” he told her. Then he turned to their baby brother “Rickon, I will be away for some time. But don’t worry. Mother will be here soon, and when I return I will bring Father with me.”

“Fare well, brother,” Rickon told him. His red eyes were moist and his lower lip was trembling. “And, when you are afraid and surrounded by foes, remember me. Remember that I’m waiting for you, at home.”

“I will remember, Rickon,” Robb promised. He smiled at his little brother, but his eyes were about to weep too. Sansa held Rickon’s hand tightly.

He wheeled his horse around and trotted away, followed by Grey Wind, Hallis Mollen, the Greatjon and Theon Greyjoy. The latter stopped by her.

“You are beautiful this morning, my lady,” he complimented her. She knew this was the last time her betrothed would see her in a long time, so she had made sure she looked her best. She was wearing a beautiful blue gown with a complicated and exquisitely embroidered collar her mother had made for her, and her hairstyle was carefully brushed and laid back with 2 braids that joined at the back, crowning her. She was glad to see he had noticed her efforts.

“So are you, my prince,” she answered. He was dressed for battle, as all the other men, but Theon was always handsome, regardless of what he wore.

“Thank you, lady Sansa. Will you write to me? A long time might pass before I see you again, if I ever do. It would be nice to know from you, and to have something beautiful to think about, with all the blood and the death of the battles,” he said, smiling as usual.

“I will. You will have word from me often, I promise. Fare well, Theon.”

“Thank you, Sansa. You’ll get word of me too. Good bye, my lady.”

He urged his horse to a gallop to catch up with Robb, and soon they all disappeared beyond the portcullis. The rest of the men followed after them. She could hear the townfolk cheer Robb beyond the castle walls. When those cheers faded to silence and the yard was empty at last, Winterfell seemed deserted and dead. The only ones that remained were women, children and old men.


	3. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this chapter takes place many months after the last one. In that time, Ned was executed, but not in the same way as in the books: Joffrey was not in King's Landing to demand his death in Baelor's Sept, but Sansa, the reason why Ned agreed to "confess" in A Game of Thrones, wasn't there either. So he never took back his accusations and Cersei decided to have him beheaded, because he posed a threat to her family, but not in Baelor's, as she didn't want to risk the Faith's wrath needlessly.
> 
> After that, Robb was proclaimed King in the North, and he fought in many battles, just like in the books. After some time he decided to send his best friend, Theon, to the Iron Islands, to ask for King's Balon's help.
> 
> Well, I think that's all. I hope you like it!

The Myraham was a fat-bellied southern merchant up from Oldtown, and her captain was a fat-bellied merchant as well. A longship from the Iron Islands would have made the crossing in half the time, he knew. Still, Theon was not displeased by the journey: he was now about to arrive in Lordsport, undrowned, and the voyage had offered some amusements. He put an arm around the captain’s daughter and told her father that they would be in his cabin.

The cabin was truly the captain’s, but it had been given to him for the promise of a rich purse of gold. The captain’s daughter, on the other hand, Theon had never been explicitly allowed to have, but she had come to his bed willingly nonetheless. The girl was a bit plump and stupid to his taste, but her breasts filled his hands nicely and she had been a maiden the first time he took her. The captain didn’t approve, and it amused Theon greatly to see him struggle to swallow his outrage while he performed his courtesies to the prince.

As he took off his wet coat she said, “You must be so happy to see your home again. How many years have you been away?”

“Two, I think,” he told her. He drew the girl close and kissed her ear. “Take off your cloak.”

Shyly, she did as he bid her, and then bowed and smiled for him. “Come here,” he told her.

“I have never seen the Iron Islands,” she said as she obeyed.

“Count yourself fortunate,” he chuckled. “They are windy, cold and damp. Miserable hard places, in truth, but my father says hard places make hard men, and hard men rule the world.”

The girl didn’t seem to be listening. “I could go ashore with you, if it please you…”

“You could go ashore,” he admitted, squeezing her breast. “But if you went with me, you’d have to be my salt wife.”

She didn’t know what that meant, so he explained her, as he unlaced her bodice deftly. The girl’s eyes grew wide. “I would be your salt wife, milord.”

“We shall see,” he said, circling her nipple with his finger. Then he took it to his mouth and bit it until she gasped.

“You can put it in me again, if it please you,” she whispered in his ear as he sucked.

“It would please me to teach you something new. Unlace me and pleasure me with your mouth.”

“With my mouth?” She asked dumbly.

He touched her full lips softly. “It’s what those lips were made for, sweetling. If you were my salt wife, you would do as I command.”

She was timid at first, but learned quickly, which pleased him. Her mouth was as warm, wet and sweet as her cunt, and this way he didn’t have to listen to her. _I might keep her as a salt wife, in truth. She isn’t bright or beautiful, but she’s pretty, obedient and willing to learn_. She’d do well enough as a salt wife, until his betrothed grew old enough to wed.

His climax came sudden as a storm, and he filled the girl’s mouth with his seed. She tried to pull away, but he held her tightly by the hair. When it was done she crawled up beside him. “Did I please milord?”

“Well enough,” he told her.

“It tasted salty,” she murmured.

“Like the sea?”

She nodded. “I have always loved the sea, milord.”

“As I have,” he said, fondling her breasts idly.

“Take me with you, milord,” the captain’s daughter begged. “I don’t need to go to your castle. I can stay in some town, and be your salt wife.” She reached out to stroke his cheek.

Theon Greyjoy pushed her hand aside gently and climbed off the bunk. “I will take you,” he informed her. “But be warned: you may be my first wife, but you won’t be the only one. I am already betrothed to a highborn northern lady and, when the day comes that I wed her, you’ll have to remain faithful to me, and obey my lady wife as well as myself.”

“I will be loyal, my prince. And I would be honored to serve your lady wife too.”

“Well then, I’ll tell your father that I’m taking you with me.”

He could see that they were already in Lordsport, and he searched with his eyes for some known ships. He spied his father’s Great Kraken, together with some other 40 longships anchored, and that made him wonder whether his father was already planning to join in the war. That would make everything easier for Theon, but it would also rob him of the glory and renown he could win if he went by himself. He wanted his father to grant him permission to take the Iron Fleet to raid the Westerlands, not to send Victarion to do the job.

After pacing the deck restlessly for some time and trying to find an explanation for the presence of the longships he resolved to seek the captain out. It would not do to make a scene later, in front of whoever his royal father had sent to greet him. He returned to his cabin to take the gold he had promised and then went to see the father of his future salt wife. The man was busy at the rudder, trying to find a place to anchor, but he turned round when he heard his steps and bowed respectfully when he saw who he was. “My lord, is there anything I can do for you?”

“You have already done enough, I think,” Theon replied. “And I think it’s time I paid you for your services.” He handed him the purse.

“Thank you, my prince,” he said pleased, taking it and placing it carefully on a table next to him. “It was an honor to serve you.”

“I am glad to know that,” he said, smiling with amusement. “But that is not all. I mean to honor you further than this.”

“Do you?” The fat man asked. Theon perceived suspicion in his voice.

“I do. I shall take your daughter as my wife,” he announced straight away.

“What?” He mumbled, bewildered. “Are you asking me for her hand?”

_I am not_ , Theon thought. _We Ironmen don’t ask for what we want. We take it by force_. “You don’t need to worry, good captain. Your daughter will have everything she needs in Pyke, and she will be wife to a king someday.”

“I would most certainly agree to this,” he said, his face and tone still showing disbelief. “But I don’t see why you should want to marry her. She is no lady, and you know that.”

“We Ironmen can take many wives,” he explained. “Only one of them, the rock wife, should be a lady; the other ones are salt wives, and they are always common girls. I like your daughter well enough to keep her as my first salt wife.”

“That’s all right, then,” he agreed. “I will gladly give you my daughter’s hand, my prince. I would like to be there in her wedding, though.”

“You shall be,” he promised.

When they disembarked, a handful of merchants gathered to meet the ship. The captain announced himself and enumerated the goods he had to sell before heralding Theon. The men bowed slightly when they saw him, but that was all. There was no honor guard waiting for him, but he hadn’t expected any. His father had never been one to care about such things. Theon commanded the captain to send somebody after his belongings and he stepped off the ship.

“Welcome back, little brother,” a woman clad in mail and leather called him. Theon smiled at Asha; his father had sent someone to meet him after all.

“Asha,” he acknowledged her. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Am I supposed to say I’m pleased to see you too?” She teased.

“You can say whatever you like.” _You always do, anyway_. “My things, please,” he commanded the captain.

A sailor gave him his longbow and quiver, but it was the captain’s daughter who brought him his clothes. He took them and she tried to hold his hand, but he didn’t let her.

“Who is this girl?” Asha asked him when she saw that she was going with them.

“She is Alla, the captain’s daughter, and soon enough she’ll be my salt wife.”

Asha regarded her with a frown and then rolled her eyes with disapproval, but whatever she thought of her she kept to herself, fortunately. “You’ll have to share a mount, then. I was not told that you had company, so I only brought 2 horses.”

“That will be all right,” he shrugged as they mounted.

“Tell me, Theon, why are you here? I had thought you were going to stay in Winterfell longer. And what made you want to marry the lady Sansa? She can’t have seduced you, for she is still a child.”

“I just thought that being the son of a Greyjoy and a Harlaw, the 2 most powerful houses in the Iron Islands, I have no need of another ironborn alliance. One of the Great Houses of Westeros makes a much better match. Besides, Robb and I like the idea of becoming brothers. We were always closer from each other than our actual brothers. Sansa didn’t seduce me, but she looks beautiful enough for a girl not yet flowered, and I think age will only make her look better,” he explained. “As for my business here, I had meant to stay longer in the North, but things have changed. Lord Eddard was executed under the almost certainly false accusation of treason, and Robb has declared war against the Lannisters,”

“And will you so easily forsake your betrothed, just to avoid fighting for her brother, who you claim was closer than a brother to you?” She provoked him.

“I am here to do just the opposite,” he replied, undisturbed. “I will ask Father to give me command of some longships, so that I can take them for a raid in the Westerlands. And while Queen Cersei frets and sends half her men to defend Casterly Rock, Robb might find his chance to take King’s Landing.”

“It’s a tempting plan, you know?” She told him, smiling. “I have always wanted to raid the westerlands, even before that little ass Joffrey came to Pyke. Now, though, I think it would be delightful to show that brat his just deserves.”

Theon knew what she meant. He had met Joffrey briefly, for the boy had come to the Iron Islands only a month before he left, but that had been more than enough to notice his willful, senseless and aggressive behavior. He was king now, so Queen Cersei had demanded to have him back in King’s Landing. King Balon had refused to comply unless she gave him her younger son, Tommen. Fortunately she had agreed, so Joffrey was no longer fostering in Pyke.

“I never invited you to join me,” Theon told her sister.

“You didn’t,” she agreed. “But you will let me nonetheless, if you are smart. Father won’t let you take more than 20 ships if you go alone. If we do it together, though, I can command as many ships as you, and we might even storm Casterly Rock.”

“Well then, you may come along if you wish,” he agreed. As long as only the 2 of them went, he would be satisfied. “Yet we still need Father’s permission.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that so much,” she shrugged it off, sure that she’d have her way.

In Pyke they were welcomed by Helya, the steward, who informed them that King Balon would see them in the Sea Tower when Theon was rested from his trip. He asked her to show him to his bedchamber, and to pick another one for Aalla. Heyla bowed stiffly and bid them follow her. She took him to his room, which was just as he had left it years ago, except for the layer of dust that covered the floor and the furniture; it seemed that nobody had bothered to clean it for his arrival. The captain's daughter was given the room next to his.

“I’ll have a basin of hot water and a fire on the hearth,” he told the crone.

“Yes, m’lord, as you command.” She left. Soon some thralls came to bring the water and light the braziers. When his face and hands were clean enough he put on some new clean clothes and went to meet his father.

When he reached the door of the solar he could hear his father's voice, so he guessed that Asha was already there. He knocked the door and a guard showed him in. He entered and found the king seated by the fire, talking with his daughter.

"Father, Iamnot asking you to risk everything you have achieved, nor to start another war," Asha was saying in an insistent voice that hinted that they had been arguing over that matter for a long time. "The only thing I ask is that you let us plunder the Westerlands. Our ancestors have done it countless times. Besides, you have always claimed you did not rebel against Robert Baratheon for a crown, but to bring the old ways back. Why do you deny your own children the rights for which you fought so fiercely?"

The prince could not help but admire his sister then. Her logic was irrefutable, and their father had no reason to refuse. The king sighed and opened his mouth to answer, but then Theon decided to approach them.They both lifted their eyes when they heard the sound of his boots on the stone steps.

“Your sister has told me you wish to raid the westerlands,” his father told him, without even a greeting. “I have already won a war, and I have no wish to risk everything I achieved by fighting in another one. I won’t declare war against the Lannisters, yet if you wish to help your little friend and reap some Lannister gold you are free to go and take whatever you want from them. I shall give 20 ships from the Iron Fleet to you and another 20 to Asha. You can go wherever you like, and see what you can bring back.”

“I thank you, father,” Theon bowed, with a pleased smile on his face. That was everything he wanted, and it had been so easy to get.

“I have done you no favor you should thank me for, Theon. Now you shall leave. I will speak with Victarion tomorrow and see what ships you can take with you.

"You should also speak to Aeron," Asha added. Seeing her father and brother's puzzled looks she added, wittingly, “He has got a wedding to preside over.”


	4. Arya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place, again, many months after the previous one. In that time, many things happened differently from the books, as a consequence of some characters' decisions. Robb was wounded in a battle and Jeyne Westerling took care of him, but as Theon didn't betray him, he was never falsely told that his brothers were dead, and he didn't feel so vulnerable and in such need of affection to fall in love with her and break his promise to the Lord of the Crossing.

She had been uncertain of the Hound’s plan at first, but in the end everything had turned out quite well. The guard at the gates had believed him when he introduced himself as a farmer, and without so much as glancing at them, he had told them to go to the kitchens and leave their pork there. They had walked the direction they were told, but when they reached the door that was supposed to be the kitchen’s he just left the casks on the floor and turned back.

“What are you doing,” Arya complained. “We are supposed to leave that in the kitchen.”

“Never mind what we are meant to do, girl. It’s the hall we want to go to, not the kitchen.”

He started to walk in quick strides, and she almost had to run to follow and keep up with him. Sandor didn’t need to ask for directions: the deafening music guided them well enough. They had to climb some stairs and walk through a corridor, but fortunately nobody saw them in their way. There was another guard in the hall’s door, though, and he stopped them as soon as he saw them. He told them to go away, whoever they were.

“I won’t go,” the Hound told him, unsheathing his sword. “Either you will let me in, or else I’ll go in on my own, and kill anything that stands in my way. Do you wish to die tonight, or would you prefer to let me in?”

The guard stared at him in silence, considering his options. Arya thought that he had none: he had a sword too, but he didn’t seem very strong; he was a rather old man, he had slim arms and he carried no shield to block any blow. The music was also too loud for him to be able to call for help, and if he even tried to do so, the Hound would just run his sword through his chest on the spot. With his eyes wide with fear he stepped back and opened the door for them.

The hall was specially decorated for the occasion, and there were Frey and Stark banners hanging everywhere. There were many tables full of richly dressed knights, lords and ladies, most of them of House Frey. All of them were either too deep in conversation or too drunk to even notice their entrance, but Sandor would take no risks. “Hurry up! We need to find your mother before any other bloody guard sees us. Follow me, look down and don’t say a word until I tell you. Not even when I talk to your mother,” he grunted.

Arya knew why he wanted her to keep quiet: if she spoke up before he could explain himself, her mother wouldn’t know that he was actually bringing her back to her family, and she wouldn’t pay him for his service. She didn’t think he deserved anything: she could very well have got there by herself and, besides, she was never going to forgive him for killing Mycah. But it would do her no good to tell the Hound that right then, so she just nodded quietly and followed him.

Her brother Robb was seated at the center of the high table, talking to a pretty brown-haired lady who sat next to him. Mother was to his right, and Arya though there was a smile on her face as she regarded Robb and his bride. Robb’s friend, Theon, sat between the Frey girl and Sansa, and was talking very excitedly to his betrothed about some battle he had fought as she smiled foolishly and looked at him wide-eyed with awe and amazement.

“Lady Stark,” the Hound called out. “I’ve got something for you.”

Her mother looked up at him and Arya could see her eyes go cold and hard as steel as they met his. “I don’t know what you came for, but as far as I know you were not invited to my son’s wedding and you have no business here. Unless you want me to call the guards on you, I suggest that you leave immediately.”

“I’ll leave soon enough, if you don’t take me in your guard,” the Hound replied, nonchalant to Lady Catelyn’s response. “The only thing I demand is that you pay me for my service. Some 15 golden dragons will do.”

“I owe you nothing, ser. Leave now, or I shall call my son’s men.”

“Mother, what’s going on?” Robb asked.

“This man over there came here uninvited and demands that I pay him for no reason at all.”

“For no reason at all?” Sandor snorted. “I bring you back the girl you are making all this war and fuss about, and you say it’s nothing at all?”

“What girl are you talking about?” Robb asked, puzzled.

“ _Princess Arya, of House Stark_ ,” he mocked.

“I am _not_ a princess!” Arya shouted at him.

“Arya? Is it really you?” Her mother asked, noticing her presence for the first time and giving her an appraising look. Arya moved closer and looked up at her. “Oh, child, where have you been? I’ve missed you so much! I was so worried… Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thank you. I have been travelling for a long time. I wanted to go to Winterfell, but the Hound said it would be quicker to come here.” Telling the whole story would take her a long time, and she did not think this was the moment for that. Besides, she couldn’t tell her mother that she had killed a stableboy, feigned to be a boy and fought in a battle, or could she? “May I sit with you?”

“Of course, my dear. You can sit here, next to me,” her mother offered. Then she turned to the Hound. “I might have been hasty to judge you. You shall have the ransom you asked for, and a place in my son’s guard, if you would take it.”

“I’ll take your ransom, and the post that you offer me.”

Her lady mother took some gold off her purse and gave it to Sandor. Then she excused herself and left the table. Sansa and Robb asked her a thousand of questions concerning her whereabouts and the way she had got there, but fortunately they didn’t expect any long answer, and she could get away with giving them very little information.

Presently her mother returned, accompanied by a plump, dark-haired man with a pointed beard. “Lothar, this man,” she told him, pointing at the Hound, “is called Sandor Clegane, and he shall be my son’s man-at-arms from this day on. Could you escort him to the pavilions with the rest of His Grace’s men?” When the plump man nodded she continued. “I would also require you to find some clean gown for a girl of about 10. Surely there is some girl that age at The Twins?”

“There is more than one, my lady. Yet why would you need it for? Is there anything wrong with your daughter’s dress?” He asked, eyeing Sansa, whose pretty green dress was spotlessly neat.

“Princess Sansa’s dress is fine,” she answered cautiously. “But my other daughter, Arya, has just come here unannounced, and she is not properly dressed for her brother and king’s wedding.”

“I see…” he said as he regarded Arya with astonishment. “I shall find something for her. Follow me, Ser Sandor.”

“I am not a knight,” the Hound said, but he followed all the same.

After a while Lothar reappeared with a pretty light blue dress for her and he led her to an empty room so that she could get changed. She put it on and then returned to the feast, ready to have dinner with her family. She sat next to her mother and helped herself to some meat, but she had barely tasted it when everyone got quiet and Lord Walder Frey spoke.

“My dear guests, I hope you are enjoying the feast,” he said. “Soon enough will be the time of the bedding, and everyone here shall have the chance to laugh at His Grace for once, without causing offense. But before that, there’s an announcement I’d like to make. I have been informed that we have an unexpected honored guest here: Princess Arya Stark of Winterfell is in this hall. I think it is a perfect time to introduce her to her betrothed: my youngest son, Elmar. Come here, my son.”

Arya stared shocked at her mother and her brother. She couldn’t have been promised to some boy without her even knowing about it. Her mother loved her, in spite of everything, and she wouldn’t do something like that to her… Or so she had believed. Her lady mother made no complaint and did not deny the betrothal. She looked uncomfortable when she met Arya’s eyes and mouthed something that the girl could not hear, but she thought it was an apology.

Arya glared at the boy who had stood up and approached his father, and she was all the more angry when she recognized him. “I am not going to marry that stupid boy!” She yelled, ignoring the nervous glances of her family, the offended eyes of the boy and the amused faces of most of the other Freys. “He’s a conceited, coward, ungrateful fool, and I hate him!”

“But why do you say so? Princess Arya, you don’t even know me! You can’t hate me yet.”

“Yes, I do know you, Elmar. And you know me, but you’re too stupid to remember.”

“Arya! Stop talking like that! The boy has done nothing to you,” her lady mother scolded her.

“Remind me, then,” Elmar demanded. “Where have we met, my princess?”

“I am not yours! And I am not a princess!” Arya said, annoyed. Why didn’t anyone understand that? “We met at Harrenhal, when you squired for Lord Roose Bolton.”

“But you weren’t there!” The boy exclaimed. “Lord Bolton, please tell them!”

“As far as I know, the princess was never in Harrenhal while I held the castle,” he confirmed.

“But I was. You didn’t know because I didn’t tell you who I was. I was Nan, the serving girl. I was the weasel who served the soup.”

There was a silence, as the boy stared at her shocked, Lord Bolton abstained from saying anything and the other ones present were too puzzled to utter a word. In the end, Elmar dropped his gaze shyly and in shame, and he mumbled, “But you… you never told me. If I had known that you were my betrothed, my princess…”

“I couldn’t tell you. The Lannisters could have retaken Harrenhal, and in that case, if I had said who I was, I would now be back in King’s Landing, locked in some cell. And it makes no matter who I am. You shouldn’t be rude to people just because they don’t have castles.”

“Well, Your Grace,” Lord Walder Frey addressed Robb. “It seems your sister is unwilling to marry my son. She’s a willful child, it would seem. But it makes no matter: we can make another arrangement, to make up for this failure.”

“I would gladly consent to another match, my lord. What do you suggest?” Robb asked him.

“My eldest son is dead and my second son is married, but my third son, ser Aenys, happens to be a widower. I think he’d be glad to remarry, you know? And it might be that your mother can find some happiness again with another man.”

Arya looked at her lady mother. This was horrible. Why should she get married again, with a man she didn’t love? She would not like it any more than Arya did, surely. But Catelyn was brave and dutiful, and she agreed to the match. She sacrificed herself for Arya, for Robb and for the kingdom of the North.

After that, there were only a few minutes before the bedding, and there was not much talk in her table. Everybody’s spirits had lowered considerably after that exchange. However, Arya could hear that Robb whispered to her mother “Don’t worry, mother. You won’t have to live at The Twins for long, I promise. I shall have a keep built for you in the North, and you will be able to move there with your new husband as soon as it’s ready. And you will be near Winterfell, so that you can visit us anytime…”

The Lord of the Crossing interrupted him then and called for the bedding. As the guests undressed the King in the North and his bride, Arya hoped that her brother would remember his promise. Their mother deserved better than that shabby dark castle ruled by that horrible Lord Walder Frey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you were expecting a confrontation between Theon and Sansa, but I just didn't think it possible to make Theon tell Sansa about his salt wife just like that, many years before they can get married. It would only ruin their short reunion and upset her unnecessarily. So I thought that he would wait and tell her just some days or weeks before the wedding instead. I hope that you are OK with that.


	5. Sansa II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this happens many months after the previous chapter, in Winterfell. The war continues, Robb's wife gets pregnant and, at the Wall, the threat of the Others becomes even more dangerous.

“When do you think Mother will come back?” Rickon asked yet again as all the Starks who remained in Winterfell had breakfast together.

“It shall be soon, I think,” Sansa assured. “One of the towers is almost ready. I guess it won’t be more than a moon’s turn before it gets finished. Then she can come and stay there, until they repair the rest of it.” Sansa had ridden to Moat Cailin a fortnight before, to supervise its rebuilding at maester Luwin’s request, so her guess was well-founded.

“And Robb?” Bran asked now. “When is _he_ coming back?”

“After he takes King’s Landing, I think,” Roslin answered this time. “He does not wish to rule the Seven Kingdoms, but he will need to take the city to get the justice he seeks. As soon as he gets the Lannisters to pay their debts to House Stark, I think he will return to us.”

“But how will he take King’s Landing, if he’s in the Westerlands taking castles? Why does he not move forth?” Arya complained.

“He _is_ moving forth,” Roslin confided, lowering her voice as though she feared some Lannister spy would hear if she spoke too loudly. “He is marching to Harrenhal, and that castle is very near the crownlands. He didn’t send ravens because they might be intercepted, and he does not wish Cersei to know of his plans until he is ready to attack. Theon Greyjoy is now creating a diversion and besieging Casterly Rock. He sent us a raven last week, saying that Robb had finally parted from him and was in his way to the capital.”

“Do you think he can come back before the baby is born?” Rickon wanted to know.

Sansa would rather her brother not to have asked that question in the Queen’s presence. Roslin and Sansa had grown close as sisters, which in fact they were. They sometimes gossiped, took walks together and went riding to the winter town with Arya. They trusted each other with their secrets and preoccupations, so Sansa knew that Roslin was worried about that. She prayed every day, both to the old gods in the godswood and to the seven in the sept, for her husband to return. She feared that her child might have to grow up fatherless. The thought of Robb dying without ever making it back home haunted her sleep.

“He might,” Sansa answered kindly but firmly her younger brother’s question. “But if he doesn’t, that will not be a problem. When the baby grows up, he won’t remember whether Robb was here or not on the day he was born.”

“That’s so,” Roslin said, giving Sansa a grateful smile. “Well, children, if you are done with your breakfast, I think Ser Rodrik is waiting for you in the yard.”

The first to take her leave was Arya. Ser Rodrik had been reluctant to train her at first, but she had claimed that her father would let her, and that he had already hired a braavosi swordsman to teach her in King’s Landing. The only proof she had was what she had learned, but that had been enough. Sansa had recently asked the master-at-arms about her progress, just like their mother would ask Septa Mordane about their needlework when they were little, and he had said that he was pleased and quite surprised by Arya’s improvement.

Rickon rose soon after her and ran to his classes too. He was 5 now, hardly old enough to grip a wooden sword properly, but he was already very excited to learn and take lessons with his older siblings. Sansa had asked about him too, and Ser Rodrik said that he was doing quite well for a boy so young. He was strong and fierce, and he loved his classes well.

Bran was the last to finish, and he bid Hodor carry him to the stables. Sansa was proud of his little brother. Even all this time after his fall, he was determined to become a knight. He was learning archery, and he practiced atop Dancer, his mare. He was brave, stubborn and a dreamer, and Sansa just wished that his dreams would one day come true.

When the ladies were left alone, they decided to take a walk around the castle. Roslin wanted to go to the grass gardens to see the new winter roses that had just started to bloom, and Sansa was happy with the idea too. Lady came along with them, walking just some steps before them.

“They are beautiful flowers, the winter roses. We don’t have them at the Twins,” Roslin said when they came into the warm garden.

“That’s a pity. We have plenty of them here, though. You can come and see them whenever you wish.”

“Do they always grow here? Even in winter?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa had to admit. She had never seen a winter, as she was born the past spring. “I hope they do. It would be sad if all the flowers just died in winter.”

“Yes, it would be sad,” Roslin agreed. Sansa saw that she looked very pale and her forehead was shining with sweat, in spite of the cold.

“Are you well, Your Grace?” Sansa asked her.

“Yes, I think it’s just the morning sickness.” She squatted down and lowered her head. “Please look away, my dear. If anything, this will be unpleasant to look at.”

Sansa did as Roslin told her and held her breath, so she saw and smelled nothing, but she did hear the regurgitating sound. When it was done she held out her hand to her sister-in-law and helped her to her feet. “It might be just morning sickness, as you say, but I would ask maester Luwin about it nonetheless. He might have something he can give you for that.”

“Very well, princess. A visit to the maester won’t hurt.”

So they walked through the courtyard to the maester’s tower, and they could see the children training. Bran was mounted 20 feet away from his mark, and still he hit it more often than not, judging by the arrows that were piercing it and the few ones scattered in the ground around it. Rickon was trying to strike Ser Rodrik with his wooden sword, and failing. Arya was training with Lady Meera Reed, a girl who had come with her brother for the harvest feast a long time ago but had decided to stay in Winterfell well after that, to Arya and Bran’s delight.

They found maester Luwin walking out of his turret. He bowed when he saw them and stopped in front of them, as if he had been looking for them too. “Maester Luwin, may we ask you something?” Sansa asked.

“Certainly, my princess.”

“Roslin is not feeling very well of late. She says she has morning sickness. Do you have anything that might help her?”

“Well, normally some small doses of milk of the poppy help with that,” the maester said. “Would you be so kind as to join me in my solar, Your Grace? It’s not to give you the medicine; its effect won’t last a whole day, so I’ll have to give it to you after dinner. I want to talk to you because a raven has arrived, and I think you should read the letter it brought us.” Roslin thanked him and nodded. Sansa was about to leave them, but Luwin stopped her. “Princess Sansa, I think you should come too.”

Inside, Luwin sat down on his chair and bid them do the same. “Where did the raven come from?” Queen Roslin asked as she took her seat.

“It came from the Wall,” the maester replied gravely. “Maester Aemon had sent one some time ago, when you were all at the Twins for the wedding. He warned that there was a terribly strong and dangerous threat north of the wall, and he begged for the help of the King in the North. I thought the watch was merely having trouble with Mance Rayder, the king-beyond-the-Wall. We didn’t have men to spare. There were barely enough to man the castle. I decided to ignore the letter, then, and wait for the war to be over. If Mance Rayder continued to cause trouble after that, Robb could see to him then, I thought…” Luwin sighed. “Now I know I was wrong.”

“Maester Luwin, what is it?” Sansa asked, suddenly worried. “Who sent this letter? What does it say?”

“This letter, my princess, is from the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, your brother Jon Snow. As to what it says, I cannot bring myself to repeat it. I think it would be better if you read it yourself.”

She picked the parchment from the desk and read the lines slowly. She shivered. What she read was horribly dreadful, and beyond her scariest nightmare.

“What is it, my dear?” Queen Roslin asked concerned. “You are shaking.”

Sansa couldn’t find the words to explain it or her voice to say them. She handed her the letter, letting her half-brother do it instead. Sansa looked at her sister-in-law as she read, and she saw her eyes go wider with every word. “This can’t be true,” Roslin muttered, but there was uncertainty in her voice.

“I thought the same at the beginning, when the wildling woman Osha said it first,” Luwin said. “Yet it now seems that she was right from the start. Jon wouldn’t have written this letter if he was not in serious trouble.”

“But, what should we do?” Sansa asked, frightened. If the Others somehow managed to breach the Wall, the North would be the first place to be attacked. “We don’t have men to send to the Wall. Robb has taken most of them south...”

“He has, but the Wall doesn’t need men,” maester Luwin replied. “Here Jon says he has convinced the wildlings to fight by his side. They are already more than the Watch has had in years. More than he can feed, most likely.”

“Is it food that we should send him, then?”

“Food, warm clothes and weapons. They will have sore need of them this winter. If it is harsh here, there it will be worse. And they will be fighting dead foes. They don’t feel exhaustion, thirst, hunger or cold as living men do, and they are unyielding enemies.”

“We should get the smiths to work and make new weapons, then. And we can work to make some gloves and scarfs. We can send some food too, or maybe gold, so that they can buy it themselves,” Roslin suggested.

“I think that would be a good idea,” Sansa agreed. “I could ride with Arya and an escort to the Wall to take it. I think he will be happy to see us, after all this time. And we could write to Robb and tell him to take his army to the Wall after he takes King’s Landing.”

“You can go to the Wall to help Jon and the Night’s Watch, my princess, but it would be best if you did not write to Robb yet. He will not be able to do anything until he defeats the Lannisters, so it will do no good to worry him.”

They told Arya and Bran of the news that very evening. Arya was shocked and scared, but also thrilled by the prospect of seeing her brother again. Bran was frustrated for being left behind. He insisted that he should be allowed to go to the Wall and see Jon too. As Sansa wasn’t especially eager to go there, she told Bran that he could go instead of her if maester Luwin agreed.


	6. Theon II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, this chapter takes place some months after the previous one. During that time Margarey Tyrell married King Joffrey. But in this fic Sansa was never betrothed to him, and she has never met the Tyrells either, so neither Olenna nor Margarey know the truth about Joffrey's character. Besides, Prince Tommen is a hostage in Pyke. For all this, Lady Olenna finds no reason to get rid of Joffrey in his wedding.

_We have made history_ , Theon thought with a smile as the gates of Maegor’s Holdfast opened to him and Robb. They had taken King’s Landing, which was tantamount to winning the war. And before that, Theon and his sister had stormed Casterly Rock, a castle that had never fallen since Lann the Clever had taken it, in a time so remote that nothing about his conquest was known for certain. He had left for King's Landing with his ships and men as soon as he heard that Lord Tywin was on his way, but Asha had remained. He knew his sister would surely have surrendered the Rock by now, but it made no matter. A day's conquest would have been enough to make a record, and she would not leave without taking a good share of gold.

The battle for King’s Landing had been a tough one for Robb. Though it was true that Cersei had dispatched most of her guards to get the Rock back, they still had the city watch, the men of house Tyrell and the common men, who were worse than squires but outnumbered them greatly, and were enough to pose a threat to the northeners. They had tried unsuccessfully to storm the Red Keep and then decided to siege it and wait for their allies. Fortunately, Prince Theon and his ironmen had come to their aid, and some mere hours after that the gold cloaks had fled. After that it took them less than an hour to take the Red Keep, and only Maegor’s Holdfast had held. Now it seemed the queen had finally accepted her defeat and allowed them to come in.

A young man with long brown hair who was wearing a bloodstained white cloak over his armor came out to meet them. “The queen has surrendered. The keep is yours,” he announced. “I can lead you to the throne room so that you can wait for her there, and negotiate the terms of your peace.”

“What is your name, ser?” Robb asked him.

“Loras Tyrell, of the kingsguard, my Lord,” he answered with a slight bow. Theon could notice for his awkward movements that he had taken a wound to his left leg.

“Lead the way, ser,” Robb commanded.

The knight led them limping through corridors and halls, but it was not as long a way as Theon had expected. The Red Keep was not so large, after all. Both Theon and Robb dismounted and followed him, together with some of their men. The doors of the Great Hall were already open for them.

“That looks like the most uncomfortable seat in the Seven Kingdoms,” Theon said, regarding the empty throne with its hundreds of thousands blades. “If you mean to rule the Sevend Kingdoms, I advise you to change that useless thing” Theon japed.

“I do not mean to rule the Seven Kingdoms, or to stay here any longer than I need. It’s not for the Iron Throne that I came here. That chair means nothing to me.”

Of course, Theon already knew that. They hadn’t set off to conquer the westerlands and King’s Landing just for sport, or for wealth and glory, even if all of those things were more that attractive and desirable to him. It was justice they were seeking, and that was what Robb hungered for first and foremost.

“Bring us the queen, ser Loras,” Theon commanded.

“The queen bid me bring you here to wait for her. I receive my commands from her, my king and my Lord Commander. Not from you.” Ser Loras replied stubbornly. Theon smiled at that: the man was bold; there was no doubt on that matter.

“Well then, I guess we can go and fetch your queen without your help. And taste her, too. If she is good enough, I might even keep her as a salt wife,” Theon intervened, hoping to make the knight change his mind, but to no avail.

“Cersei is far too old for you, Theon,” said Robb, but the look he gave him was not one of reproach. His eyes were instead lit with amusement and mischievous cunning. “You should try the other one. Joffrey's wife, Margaery. She is about 16, they say, pretty, slender and sweet. And we will bump into her as likely as not while we search for Cersei.”

Theon smiled, admired by Robb’s idea, as Margaery’s brother turned pale with horror. “No need for that, my king. I can escort the queen to you, if you wish. You will have to wait for some time, but it will be quicker than searching all the holdfast,” the youth offered at last.

“We will wait for you here, Ser Loras,” Robb told him.

The young knight bowed again and withdrew. Theon looked about the Great Hall, searching for the famous dragon skulls that were said to adorn its walls, and was disappointed to find only hunting tapestries. He knew that the Baratheons weren’t fond of dragons, but he wouldn’t have guessed that they would destroy such a wonder as that. Had they burned the skulls?

“Well, what will you do about the Iron Throne?” Hallis Mollen asked Robb suddenly. “We can hardly let Joffrey keep it, and we can’t give it to Tommen either, because Cersei would remain his regent.”

“Cersei will be no one’s Regent anymore: I mean to get her head removed from her shoulders on the morrow. As for Joffrey, he is free to keep his Iron Chair, as long as he renounces to any claim to the Iron Islands, the North and the Riverlands.”

“And if he doesn’t, we can just behead him too and crown Tommen, who will surely be more willing to accept our terms,” concluded Theon.

He heard some footsteps from behind him, so he turned to see the newcomers. They were Ser Loras and the queen, whom Theon recognized from her visit to Winterfell, about 2 years ago. Now she seemed to have put on some weight, though, and looked much older than she had then.

“My lords,” she greeted them, without any sort of curtsy.

“We are not lords. I am a king, just like your son, and Theon is a prince,” Robb informed her coldly. “And we have now taken your castle.”

“And you mean to take it forever from me? To send me back to Casterly Rock?” She seemed very composed and calm, not at all like a queen who is about to lose her kingdom.

“You wish that we intended that!” Theon snorted, “It is not your throne we came here for. What we seek is justice. You murdered Lord Eddard Stark with no reason at all, and we are here to see that you pay for it.”

“That was not murder. Lord Stark was executed for treason,” the queen replied without raising her voice. However, Theon noticed a hint of fear in her eyes.

“What treason did he commit, I should like to know,” Robb demanded.

“He denied my son’s rights. He said he was a bastard, and should not be king. If that is not treason, I do not know what is.” Cersei spoke a somewhat louder than before, but she was still trying to sound confident and annoyed instead of frightened to death, and she almost managed it.

“Cheating on your husband and king and naming your bastard son as his heir is also treason.” Cersei opened her mouth, presumably to deny ever doing such a thing, but Robb cut her off before she could utter a sound. “I am not saying that you did, but there was no proof on the matter; only your word against his. If you had held some trial I might have accepted my father’s execution, but as you took justice on your own hands, I think there is no reason why I shouldn’t do the same. I am no less a king than your bastard son.”

That left her speechless. She opened her mouth, but no words came through it, so then she closed it again. Now Theon thought it would be the perfect time to make the announcements. “Your Grace, you shall be executed on the morrow. Before that, though, you may want to choose a new regent for your son, and name a new hand of the king.”

She blinked, bewildered. “A new regent for my son?”

“We have nothing against him, yet. There is no way we can prove that he is not actually your late husband’s son, and as long as he does not trouble me I will have no reason to concern myself with his parentage. If he agrees to our terms we might let him keep his head. And his throne.”

“I wish my father to remain the Hand of the King. And I would name my brother Jaime as Lord Regent.” She said at once.

“That is all for now. Ser Loras, you can take her back to her chambers now. Tell your Lord Commander that his presence is required by the King in the North, as well as the one of King Joffrey. After that you are free to go and have a maester see to your wounds.” Ser Loras bowed and was about to leave when Stark spoke again, this time to his own men. “Hallis, Smalljon, you go with them and make sure the queen does not live her room.”

Robb’s orders were quickly carried out, and soon Jaime Lannister, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, came in, escorting his nephew, king and son. Jaime was even more changed than his sister. His curly golden hair was short, he had grown a beard and lost his sword hand.

“What do you want?” The boy king confronted them.

“Only to make some things clear,” Robb said, with the calm of a man who knows that he has already won the fight. “I do not wish to take your throne. You are free to keep it, as long as you let us keep ours.”

“You have no rights to a throne. You are just usurpers and traitors!”

“If you want to see it that way, Your Grace,” Theon mocked him. “Yet we traitors can kill a king easily enough, as I think your uncle here could tell you.” Jaime Lannister shifted his weight from one leg to another, but he kept his head held high and made no reply to the insult.

“Your mother will be beheaded tomorrow, and there is nothing that will change that, but you need not share her fate. As long as you acknowledge my rights to the North and the Riverlands and Balon Greyjoy’s to the Iron Islands’, you can stay here, as Lord of the Five kingdoms,” Robb informed him.

“My mother…”

“Will be executed tomorrow,” Theon finished. “You can watch if you wish, and hear her last words.” Then he turned to Jaime. “Your sister named you Regent, and she said she wishes your father to keep his post as Hand.”

“Please tell my sweet sister that I thank her very much, but I would prefer to remain Lord Commander of the kingsguard.”

“You will be that and Lord Regent at the same time, Ser Jaime.” Robb told him. Then he turned to Joffrey. “Would you like to die tomorrow, then? Or would you prefer to agree to our terms.”

“You can keep your wastelands,” Joffrey declared, trying and failing to appear nonchalant. “They’re nothing to me.”

“You have my leave to go, then.”

Cersei’s execution was not, as Theon would have liked, a public spectacle for all of King’s Landing to see. Robb took her head off in the godswood of the Red Keep. He believed both in the drowned god and in the old gods, but preferred the latter ones to witness his father’s vengeance, because Lord Eddard had only been known to pray to them. Only the lords, ladies and knights of the court and the conquerors’ hosts attended the execution.

Robb did it himself, as he said his father would have. He wanted to use Ice, but Jaime Lannister told him that the sword he wanted had been melted down and used to make two new ones. He was given both of them and, after noticing that both swords had lion’s heads in its pommels and scabbards he chose the biggest one to do the job. Cersei refused to say any last words, and when her silent long stare made that clear, Robb ended her life with a single blow.

Robb sent a letter to Winterfell telling of their victory, and Theon sent another one to the Iron Islands. King Balon did not bother to reply, but Theon never expected him to. Robb’s wife, however, did answer, and they got her raven a fortnight after the battle, when they were ready to start back for their homes. Robb had looked very distressed when he told him he had received a raven from Winterfell. His eyes were fixed on the floor, without the least intention of meeting Theon's, and his lips were slightly parted. He couldn't look any more bewildered if he had seen his father's ghost in the crypts of Winterfell, Theon thought. Seemingly, the news were bad.

"Is Queen Roslin fine?" Theon asked him, thinking that she might have had a stillbirth. That would be a very sad thing to happen, after eight months of pregnancy.

"Aye. Roslin is fine," Robb said, betraying no emotion in her face or in her voice.

"And your siblings?"

"They are fine too," the King in the North answered, still not daring to look him in the eyes.

"Well, what is the matter, then?" Theon got impatient.

Robb answered his question by handing him the letter. The ironborn started to read, anxious. After a few lines he stopped, as he could hardly believe his eyes. It was terrible. It was madness. Yet it was signed by Roslin, maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik, the three of them. One of them could be wrong, or mad, but all three… It could only be true.

“It seems it is not over yet,” Theon commented when the shock had started to leave him.

“Indeed it does. We have a long way to go from now.” _A long way indeed, from King’s Landing to the Wall_. “At least we have valyrian swords now. Roslin seems to think that they will prove useful against… our new foes.” It was hard to think of them as a real thing, and much harder even to mention them out loud.

“You might have a valyrian sword,” Theon corrected him. “House Greyjoy has none.”

“You can have Widow’s Wail. One sword is enough for me. And if things go as we planned, one day I will pass mine on to my children, and you to my nephews.” Robb said, smiling.

Theon smiled too. His betrothed would now be 13 namedays old. She was old enough to get married. Theon knew she had already flowered, because Sansa had told him so when they met for Robb’s wedding. And Roslin would surely give birth to her baby before they arrived. Theon was already a father: his salt wife had given him a daughter she had calles Alannys, his father had informed him a year ago in one of his very infrequent letters. In spite of that, it somehow seemed unreal to him to think of his future marriage and of Robb as a father. Growing up seemed as strange as the Others, and yet they were both realities they would have to face soon.

“I would love that,” Theon said. “But I will take that lion head off as soon as I get back to Pyke. And I will have another scabbard made.”

“I will do the same.” Robb said, serious now. “What the Lannisters did to my father’s sword was outrageous. I think I ought to kill Lord Tywin for that, but he is at the Rock now.”

“Don’t worry about Tywin: he is old enough to die without your help.”

A few hours after that, they set off to the North. Theon smiled as he urged his horse to a trot, thinking of his future lady wife, waiting for him in Winterfell.


	7. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, the chapter takes place many months after the previous one. Durina all the time that has gone on in the fic there were confrontations and political tensions at the Wall, but as Winterfell remained under the Starks' power and all the family (save for Robb during the battles) were safe, Jon had no reason to plan a journey south, and though his sworn brothers didn't agree with all his unpopular decisions, they didn't find enough provocation to murder him.

The first blast sounded long, loud and clear. So did the second, and then the third. He shivered a little, but wasn’t too concerned about it. The wights had attacked Castle Black twice in the last moon turn, but they had been too few to pose a real threat either time. Jon didn’t think this ambush was going to be any different. The only thing that worried him was that, if the dead were attempting to breach the Wall, they would not do it only near Castle Black, where they could be stopped, but also between the abandoned and newly garrisoned castles, and he knew their men would not be able to keep them at bay for long.

He rose and ran to the armory, followed by the king in the North and the First Steward, with whom he had been discussing figures and important matters in his solar. Robb and Jon picked a crossbow each and then went to the winch elevator and asked to be taken up to the Wall. After what seemed a very long time they finally got to the top, and Jon bid his brother look down.

“So this is what you meant,” Robb said as he regarded the 20 dead beings that attempted to climb the Wall. This time they were more than in the previous attacks, but Jon knew they could beat them off before any of them reached the top.

“Partly,” Jon admitted. The wights were a nuisance at best and a considerable danger at their worst, but not the real problem. They could be defeated with a couple of lighted arrows. It was the Others that animated them, and the ones they could not kill. He was about to explain that when his brother spoke again.

“And to think that all my life I believed that the Wall was there to keep the wildlings off!”

“Well, I used to think the same, at the beginning,” Jon confessed. “But then I met the Others, and I met the Free Folk too. They are wild and rough, but they are just people, as we are, and we have no cause to keep killing each other. The King Beyond the Wall has attacked us, but King Stannis helped us stop them and the wildlings had to surrender in the end. We have been at peace with them since then.”

Jon had asked Robb about Stannis the same day he arrived at Castle Black, some 10 days ago. He had told him that, according to his wife, the proud king had won the loyalty of the mountain clans and ridden with them almost as far as Winterfell, but that a snowstorm had kept them stuck in a village at a three-days-ride from the castle. By the time they finally could move forward half of the men had either starved or frozen to death, and the surviving ones were weak, sick and hungry. Queen Roslin offered them her hospitality, and the only thing she had asked in return was that King Stannis acknowledged Robb’s rights as King in the North and that he joined him in the battle of King’s Landing. The storm king had been too proud to accept any terms but his own, so he refused and rode on.

Stannis had also been too proud to bend the knee and give up, in spite of knowing that he had no way of conquering the capital with his small number of surviving warriors. Jaime Lannister had told Robb that the king at the Wall had been taken alive, and that King Joffrey had had him burned to death, as a mockery to his devotion to R’hllor.

Jon himself had given Queen Selyse the news. The woman cried silently over her lost husband, king and kingdom, but she told Jon she had no wish to crown her daughter, fortunately. They decided to ride to Storm’s End instead and bend the knee to Joffrey. It was not that she believed him the rightful king, but her daughter was a child, and there were no more men that would fight for her. Lady Melisandre had seemed confused at the beginning, but after some days she recovered and went back to her usual custom of upsetting and confounding him. He shuddered, remembering the time when, 2 days ago, she had told him very confidently that she had been wrong all along, that she had been following the wrong man, and that the real Azor Ahai, the hero she had sought in Stannis, was Jon himself.

“Wait!” Robb exclaimed after shooting a wight in the head. “He didn’t die. He is still climbing.”

The wight’s hair was aflame, yet it kept climbing, oblivious to the fire that would soon consume him. “Actually, he did die,” Jon corrected Robb. “All the wights are dead. We have to kill them a second time after they rise from the dead, though, and that is harder than killing a living person. Only fire can do it, and you can’t stop them any other way.”  
Jon and tha man who had the watch shot more arrows at the wight and it finally fell. They moved on to another objective.

“Of course,” Robb muttered, amazed, while he knocked a wight down with another arrow. “ _What is dead may never die._ I wonder what Damphair would say of this.”

Jon didn’t know who Damphair was, but he did not ask. He wondered what Stark meant by 'what is dead may never die', and hoped that he was wrong about that.

“If we are going to stay here to watch those wights die, can we at least continue with the meeting we have just interrupted?” Bowen Marsh asked, evidently irritated.

“If you wish,” the King in the North agreed.

“Very well,” Jon accepted. They had been trying to decide where to send Robb's men. They were 5,000: more than Castle Black had ever had. He addressed his half-brother “You said you could send half of your men to the Shadow Tower. I think that is too big a number for just one castle. The Shadow Tower is currently held by less than 200 men. I don’t think Lord Denys Mallister would know what to do with so many.”

“What do you suggest, then?” Robb asked, lost. “You said they can’t stay here, either. Should I send them back to their own lands?”

“Some of them, if you wish,” Jon conceded. “But we have place for most of them at the Wall. Only not here, or at the Shadow Tower. You can split your men in groups and send them to Westwatch by the Bridge, Sentinel Stand, Torches and the other regarrisoned castles.”

“Oh, I had forgotten about them,” Robb realized. “I can send 400 to the Shadow Tower then. And 200 for each of the other ones you named. Who commands them?” The king wanted to know.

“I haven’t yet named a commander for those,” Jon admitted. “If you wish, you can choose some of your men to command them.”

“Thank you, Snow. I think I will name Dacey commander of Torches. That was the one next to the women’s castle, Long Barrow, wasn’t it?”

“Aye,” Jon confirmed.

“Well, I think Lady Dacey will get along with her spearwife neighbours,” Robb settled the matter. “For Westwatch by the Bridge I would name Ser Patrek Mallister. This way he could stop by the Shadow Tower on his way and see his kinsman. And for the Sentinel Stand I choose the Greatjon. He is a very strong fighter, and I think he will do well there.”

“According to this plan,” the First Steward interrupted, “1,000 men will leave Castle Black. That still leaves us 4,000. What shall be done about them?”

“They can go to Greyguard, Hoarfrost Hill, and Rimegate. Or even to the Nightfort, now that Stannis is dead,” Jon told him. “And if they were too many after all the castles are fully manned, we will dismiss some, and let them return to their lands. Now, what actually worries me is our lack of useful weapons against the Others. Robb, have you brought Ice with you?”

“Ice doesn’t exist anymore,” his brother informed. “The Lannisters have melted it down to make 2 smaller swords. I took the bigger one and chose a name for it: Winter Wolf. The shorter one I gave to Theon. He will come here soon and bring it along.”

“Three valyrian swords, then,” Marsh put in. “That seems to be all that we have.”

“Right now it is,” Robb conceded, smiling blithely as he brought the last wight down by a quarrel on the neck. “But if the gods are good, that is going to change soon.”

“And how is it going to change, if I may ask, Your Grace?”

“We will buy obsidian to make new weapons, of course. I've heard the have plenty of it in Dragonstone,” he answered casually, ignoring the steward’s hostility.

"Riding from the Wall to Dragonstone in winter is impossible, and we have no ships left," Marsh objected.

"It may be that the Night's Watch has no ships, but the ironborn have many, and one of them just happens to be my friend," Robb continued, taking no offense. "And I am positive that King Stannis' castellan will gladly sell it to him if he says that he comes on behalf of Lord Snow.

It was unbearably cold out there, and though they were heavily cloaked and walking at a quick pace to keep warm, Jon was about to start shivering. They went down again and considered the meeting finished and all the matters settled, at least for the moment. Jon asked his half-brother to come and have dinner with him that night, after he had told his men of his plans, and the Stark accepted gladly.

“How was your visit to Winterfell?” Jon asked him as they took a seat at the small table.

“Shorter than I would have liked,” Robb answered while Satin came in with the trays, “but very pleasant too. We stayed there for a week and I could see my queen again after so long, and meet my newborn son. Roslin says he has my looks, because he has blue eyes. He is very little yet, but Luwin claims he is healthy and strong.”

“It is good to hear that, Your Grace.” It felt awkward to call his brother that, but Robb was a king as much as he was his father’s son. “What is your baby called?”

“Roslin decided to name him Eddard. I think that’s the custom in the Twins: to name children after their grandfather,” he shrugged.

“How are our brothers and sisters?” Jon had seen Arya and Bran when they traveled to the Wall to bring some donations, but they had only stayed for a fortnight, and a long time had gone by since then, too. Sansa and Rickon, on the other hand, he hadn’t seen since he had ridden North to take the black.

“They are fine, I think,” Robb answered, tasting a spoonful of vegetable soup. “Sansa was very thrilled when she saw us come, but I think she was disappointed by our early departure. And she had a serious argument with Theon. She practically ignored him for two days.”

“Did she?” Jon asked, stunned. Sansa was not very quick to get angry with anyone, and Theon was her betrothed and idealized prince.

“Aye, she did. It was because Theon told her that he has married a common girl and had a child by her. He was planning to tell her after the date of their wedding was fixed, but I told him that the sooner he did it the better, because she would need some time to accept it and forgive him, and raping a reluctant bride is the worst possible way to start a marriage. After I said this he changed his mind."

Jon already knew how marriage worked in the Iron Islands, because Robb had once told him about it during the short time they spent in Winterfell together before he rode to the Wall. Sansa was going to be the most important woman in Theon's life, but not the only one, and she would have no choice but to put up with it. He wondered how Lady Catelyn would have reacted if his father had been an iron man and had taken his mother as a wife.

"I guess she has a right to dislike the idea of having to share her husband," Jon commented. "Does she still look forward to wedding him?"

"Yes, she does. Theon has explained everything about salt wives to her, comparing them to serving girls, and he has also promised not to take any other wife without her leave. He did his best to win her back and, after taking her for a walk, dancing with her at a feast, giving her a pearl necklace and kissing her lips, he finally did. When we left, she bid us return as soon as we can so that she and Theon can finally get married. But she will have to wait for a long time before we come back, if we ever do. It must have been hard for her to see us off. And even more for Roslin, who is a mother now.” The thought darkened his face with sadness.

“And the children? How were they?” Jon asked in an attempt to lighten his brother’s mood. Fortunately, he succeeded.

“They have grown a lot in the past 2 years,” Robb stated. “It was almost as when I got back to Winterfell after fostering in Pyke. Rickon is not a baby anymore: he has started his training in arms, and maester Luwin is teaching him his letters. And do you remember when we laughed at Bran in his first archery practice? You should see him now! He sits atop his mare, a long way from his aim, and still he hardly ever misses. And did you know Arya has taken up fencing? Ser Rodrik is teaching her, and he claims she is actually a good fighter. She even has a sword she calls Needle. I wonder how she managed to convince Father to get her a sword.”

“She never did. I had Mikken forge Needle for her in Winterfell, before we parted,” he confessed.

“Did you?” Robb asked, amused. “Well, then you probably saved her life as well. I think she used that sword to escape King’s Landing, and many other times after that. She said something about it in my wedding.”

“I am glad it has served her well,” Jon said. Arya had told him all there was to know about her adventures when she had visited the Wall. He was proud of his little sister for managing to survive through all that on her own, but mostly he was just sad for her having to go through that at all.

They were suddenly interrupted by 2 muffled knocks. The door opened slowly and Satin appeared behind it. “Lord Snow,” he called tentatively. “Clydas is without. He says he has a letter for you, from Eastwatch by the Sea.”

“Very well, send him in,” he commanded.

The old man came in and gave him the letter with a trembling hand. The Lord Commander read it, conscious of the 6 pairs of eyes fixed on him. When he finished, he announced:

“It seems we shall soon have everything we need to face the Others. Ser Glendon says Prince Theon Greyjoy has arrived and brought enough obsidian to make a dagger for each man of the Watch. But there are bad news too. The Haunted Forest seems to be completely invaded by wights, and they are attacking everywhere, all along the Wall. Some have managed to breach it and are now at the towns of the Gift...”

The Night’s Watch was ready, then, but so were the Others.


	8. Bran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place about a year after the previous one.

The bridegroom awaited his bride in the altar, with a happy smile on his face. He was a tall, strong and handsome young man, and he was wearing a black velvet surcoat with a golden kraken embroidered in it. Bran looked at him from his seat next to Arya and Queen Roslin, who was holding her baby in her arms. Rickon was also with them, and their mother. Even Jon had allowed himself to leave the Wall to attend the wedding.

The door at the back opened and the band started to play as the King in the North walked up the aisle, escorting his young sister as Father would if he still lived. Robb was almost entirely dressed in leather, with boots, breeches, doublet and a long sleeved jerkin, and only his collar was made of dark grey fur. His smile was small and barely visible, but Bran noticed it nonetheless.

The bride was dressed in a white tight dress that enhanced her breasts and marked her waist, making her look older than her 15 years. Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she reached Prince Theon Greyjoy. Robb carefully removed her maiden cloak and stepped aside, so that Theon could cloak her with his own.

Bran wondered sullenly whether he would someday cloak a maid and wed too. He would definitely not get married from atop Hodor’s basket; that would be ridiculous. He could do it riding Dancer, though. That would be most unusual, but that way he would be able to wed with some dignity. The sept was no place for a horse, but that made no matter to him. If he ever did get married, he wouldn’t do it in a sept, he was sure of that. His sister had always favored the seven over the old gods, but that was not Bran’s case. And if he was allowed to pick his own bride, he would not choose a southern lady who believed in the new gods, or one from the Iron Islands, either. He had nothing against them, but he was already in love with a girl from the North. A very smart, pretty and kind lady that had been living in Winterfell with him for years now. She was older than him, though, and as far as he knew, completely unaware of his affections.

After Sansa was under the prince’s protection, Septon Chayle said “Your Grace, my Lords, my Ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” The couple held their hands and Septon Chayle wrapped them together with a strip of ribbon, saying the customary words. Then Theon and Sansa said their vows, together. Finally, the septon allowed them to kiss.

Watching the newly married couple kiss, Bran remembered that Sansa’s favorite stories had always been of love. Kissing stories, Bran had always called them, because they always ended with the hero kissing the princess or noble lady he had rescued, and wedding her. Bran smiled, happy for his sister. It seemed she had reached her happy ending at last.

Only this wouldn’t be the ending. Winter was not done yet, and the Others weren’t gone. Jon claimed that the Night’s Watch finally had enough weapons to face them, so he had deemed it safe to leave the Wall for a short period of time; just long enough to go to his sister's wedding, but he would return to his post in mere days, and Robb planned to follow him. Theon had already stated his wish to take his bride to the Iron Islands, to introduce her to his family and let her settle in his new home, and also to have another wedding ceremony with the Drowned God as witness. But after that, he would also go to the Wall, and Sansa would have to wait for a long time to see him again, if she ever did. Bran’s smile died in his lips with that thought.

The newly married left the sept, headed for the Great Hall, and the guests soon rose to follow. Hodor came to pick him up without need to be called and left him where Bran indicated him: at the main table, with all his family, between Queen Roslin and Rickon. The food they ate that day could not be compared to the one he remembered from the feast his father had had in King Robert’s honor in the summer, or even to the one of the harvest feast, but it was still the best they had had in a long time.

Jon, Robb and Theon told stories about their battles against the wights, to Arya, Bran and Rickon’s delight, and they also chatted merrily about trivial things for a while. His mother announced that Moat Caillin had been completely rebuilt at last, and she described it to them, with the help of her new husband and step-son, who had come with her to the wedding. Bran knew that Rhaegar Frey was the heir to Moat Cailin unless his father had a son with Lady Catelyn, and that his mother’s family was not his anymore, but somehow, that didn’t make him so sad. He knew that his mother had loved Lord Eddard Stark more than she would ever love Lord Aenys Frey, and that she still loved him and his siblings.

The talk turned a bit more serious after some time, as they discussed politics and war. So far Queen Daenerys had been exclusively focused in King’s Landing, but now that she had finally conquered it, nothing prevented her from riding her dragons North. If she did, she would certainly put an end to Robb’s short-lived reign, and he would be known as the Second King Who Knelt as likely as not. Their moods darkened a little with that idea, but nobody wanted to talk about such an unpleasant thing in a wedding, so when Robb said he had an announcement to make, everyone in the table was happy with the prospect of a change of topic.

“I have been thinking, with my Queen, that it is past time I gave a thought to the future of my younger siblings. Rickon is 7 now, old enough at least to be a page. Bran is still a boy, but it won’t be long before he becomes a man grown, and Arya is old enough to wed.”

“I hope you have not offered me to another stupid boy…” Arya started to complain.

“Don’t worry, little sister,” Robb reassured her kindly. “I haven't done such thing, yet. What I mean to do with you, Arya” Robb continued, “is send you to Pyke. You will squire for Princess Asha, who has agreed to take you under her wing and train you in arms.”

“Really? You are the best brother ever!” Arya exclaimed with a full smile in her lips.

“And what about me?” Jon asked, half-kidding. “It was me who gave you Needle in the first place.”

“You are right,” Arya admitted, still smiling with joy. “You are both the best brothers ever.”

“That’s better,” Jon smiled at her.

“Well, as I was saying,” Robb went back to his announcement, “Arya will go to the Iron Islands with Theon and Sansa. I also want to send Rickon away to Riverrun, so that he can be Lord Edmure’s page. What do you think?” He asked all of them, but looked at Mother especially.

“I think that would be good,” she said. “I think my brother will be happy with this: Rickon is a strong and fierce boy, and he is quick to learn.”

“I will write to him about it, then,” Robb closed the matter. “After we all leave, Bran will be the only one of my siblings that will remain in Winterfell. Roslin, I would like him to be part of all your councils and be by your side whenever you hold court. He will be a lord some day; he needs to learn how to rule.”

“You are wrong,” Bran corrected his brother. “I will never be a lord. You have a son now, and he is the heir to Winterfell. And even if you didn’t, you are a king, not a lord.”

“I did never say you would be Lord of Winterfell,” Robb told him. “But there are other castles in the North. You could have one of them, if you wished.”

“Which castle would you give to me?” Bran asked, puzzled. As far as he knew, all the castles in the North already had a lord.

“I would give you Greywater Watch.”

“You can’t.” Bran said at once. “That is Lord Reed’s castle.” Meera was heir to Greywater Watch ever since her brother had died. It had happened about half a year ago, yet it still gave him nightmares.

Bran had spent that cold, dark night locked up in his room, where everybody thought he would be safe, while all the men of fighting age plus Arya and Meera went out to meet the hundreds of dead things that attacked the castle. Jojen was no warrior, and everyone was surprised when he announced that he meant to fight. Meera had not allowed it, and she had told him to stand guard in Bran’s room, armed with a torch and a rusted sword from the crypts.

He did as he was bid and stayed with Bran, trying unsuccessfully to guess how things were going out there by the screams, curses and clashes they heard, until the dead beings found their way to the room and managed to bring down the door. Jojen had tried to fight against them, but there was not much he could do. In the end he had hoisted Bram to the window and told him to escape through it. It was not a very long fall, and the snow would make it soft. He could lay there and pretend to be dead until the fight was done. “What about you?” He had asked, afraid and trying hard not to cry, “Will you jump too?”

“Whatever I do makes no matter,” Jojen had answered, “for this is the day I die.”

There had been no time for farewells, with the wights so close to them, in the very room. Bran had then pushed himself down, and cried silently in the snow, not in pain but in grief.

“That is right, but it doesn’t mean it can’t be yours one day," Robb explained, calling Bran back to the present. "Lady Meera is Lord Howland’s sole heir now. If you were to wed her, you would become his son-in-law and his heir.”

Bran looked down. The idea sounded great to him: he actually loved Meera, and he would gladly marry her and move to Greywater Watch with her if she agreed to wed him. But, would she? The girl had always been kind to him and they were very close, but did that mean she loved him? Or did she see him as a baby, another little brother to protect?

“Bran?” His mother called him softly. “Don’t you like Lady Meera?”

“I do like her,” he admitted, ashamed. “But I don’t think she will love me.”

Sansa smiled tenderly at that. “I used to think the same about Theon when I was your age. And I still think he did not love me back then. How could he? I was still a child, while he was a man grown.” Bran stared at her, wondering if that was true. It could be. Theon was much older than Sansa, and they had been betrothed when she was his age.

“I thought you were pretty,” Theon told his wife, “but you are right: I did not love you as a child. I love the beautiful, sweet and smart woman you have become now, though.” He kissed her lips lightly. “So Bran, Meera may not want to marry you now, but that doesn’t matter: you are in no haste, either. In a few years you will be a man, and everything will change.”

“You are right, Greyjoy,” said the King in the North. “It will have to wait some time. But I will write to Lord Howland Reed all the same, to arrange the betrothal.”

After the bedding, Bran told Hodor to take him to where Meera was seated while most of the guests danced to the last songs. She smiled at him when she saw him. “Meera, I would like to tell you something,” he announced.

“What is it, my prince?” She asked, kindly concerned.

“My brother Robb wants us to wed, when I am grown,” he confessed, uncertain.

“Oh,” she said, and Bran thought he could hear disappointment in her voice. “Well, don’t worry about that. I think I can talk to His Grace about it. I will not marry you if you do not wish to wed me,” she tried to reassure him.

“It isn’t that,” he explained. “The problem is not what I wish. If you liked me, I would wed you gladly. You are a very smart, kind and pretty girl, and I like you,” he said, blushing. He looked down at the floor, wishing to be able to run away right then. “But if you do not like me, the last thing I would want is to compel you to marry me all the same.”

“If that is the only problem, my prince, I think there is no problem at all,” she said, kissing his cheek softly. “I like you very much as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end of the fic, for now. I might write one more chapter sometime later this year, showing Theon and Sansa as a married couple come spring, but that would take me a lot of time and I'd have to figure out what happens in Westeros in the following five years or so. I don't know, then, whether I'll be able to do it, or when, so you can consider this the end. I hope you liked it!


	9. Sansa III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this chapter I want to say that, while I'm fairly good at writing the beginning of a fic, I pretty much suck at the ending. I apologize, then, for this last chapter, which will be full of crack theories and cliches I'm not sure I buy myself. Well...maybe it's not all that bad, maybe I'm just being too hard on myself. But anyway, I know this will definitively not be the best part of the story.
> 
> The chapter takes place 3 years after the previous one, in King's Landing. Queen Daenerys has defeated all the kings of Westeros and made them bend to her will. In the Iron Islands, Lord Balon was killed by his brother after he was forced to bend the knee, but nobody believed Euron would do any better, so Theon has been named Lord of the Iron Islands and he has had his uncle executed.The war is over, the Others are again banished North of the Wall and spring has come at last. There is a tourney in King's Landing, which will be pretty much a remake or adaptation of the tourney at Harrenhal. If you don't mind that, then here it goes!

It was a warm night of spring and the stars shone brightly up in the sky, while down in the streets of King’s Landing there were torches that illuminated their way. The city was fully crowded and busy because of the tourney of Queen Daenerys’ 20th nameday. The anniversary was only an excuse: the actual reason for the celebrations was the end of the wars of winter. The day had been long and exciting, with many jousts and contests and a wonderful feast after that, and now the lord and lady of the Iron Islands were ready to go back to the room they had been given in Maegor’s Holdfast, where they would hopefully enjoy a good night’s rest.

“Your sister is as crazy as mine,” Theon told Sansa, amused. “But I have to admit that she did surprisingly well. She gave Lord Bolton a good beating.”

“She did,” she agreed. “Though it was not Roose Bolton she wanted to beat, but his squires. She entered the lists to make him punish them, like the knight in Meera’s story. That mystery knight was her inspiration to do this, and he is also the reason why she chose the name of the Faceless Tree.” In fact, the scheme had been Meera’s idea as much as it was Arya’s. They had planned it all together. They had bought a black shield and painted a weirwood with two dark eyes in it, but Arya had refused to draw a nose or a mouth, and she had called it Faceless.

“Well, she got what she wanted, then. I don’t think those squires will be able to sit for a year after the thrashing they got. But why was she so angry at those boys? What did they do to her?”

“To her, they did nothing. It was Bran they bullied daily during their stay in Winterfell as wards. They were not even ten, so it was forgivable then, but now they are almost men grown and they have not changed at all.”

“How do you know that? Did they mock him here in King’s Landing?”

“Aye, they did. Meera claims that, on the day of their arrival, they met by chance at the stables and the Walders teased Bran, telling him they were glad to see that he was not riding ‘that awfully stupid beast’ any longer, and they did not mean Dancer. They also asked him what he was doing here, and when he said he was going to compete they laughed at him and asked if he was hoping to get killed at last. Before he could answer, the boy called Little Walder said that he would also wish to be dead if he was betrothed to a frog-eater with breasts as small as grapes.”

“I agree with your sister, then: those lads really had it coming. Will she ride tomorrow, or will she disappear before they can unmask her?”

“I told her that she should leave it there, but she wants to continue. She says there is no reason to fear being discovered, as there is already another lady competing. She doesn’t seem to realize that most people don’t like the Maid of Tarth.”

“Well, she is still a maid for some reason, isn’t she?” Theon japed. Sansa gave him a hard look for that, but it only made him laugh.

When they entered their room, they found their two namedays old child playing with his toys, accompanied by his half-sister and watched over by Alla, whom Sansa had decided to bring along to the capital as a childminder. The boy had been deeply absorbed in his play, but when he realized that his lady mother was back he quickly stood up and ran to her. Sansa smiled, picked her son up and kissed his forehead, and he kissed her cheek in return. She noticed that his beautiful auburn hair was almost shoulder-length now, which meant that he should have his first haircut soon. Theon asked his salt wife how the children had behaved during their absence.

“They were very good, m’lord. Little Rodrik cried a little when he awoke and found you gone, but then he got well again and played all the afternoon. And he even ate most of his broth.”

“I am glad to hear that, Alla,” Sansa said. “You may leave us now.”

The woman dedicated them a small curtsy before leaving to her room, followed by Alannys. When they were alone, Sansa took her elegant dress off and slipped into her nightgown. The clothes she had been wearing all day were not uncomfortable, but they were now too tight for her, so it was a relief to be able to get changed at last.

“Why were you so eager to dismiss her?” Theon asked her as she lay Rodrik down on his cradle. “I thought you were no longer jealous.”

“I was never jealous of Alla. As long as Rodrik and I come first for you, I have no reason to,” she answered. And it was true: though it had been hard at the beginning to come to terms with her shared marriage, it had not taken her too long to accept it. Theon never so much as touched his salt wife in Sansa’s presence and the woman could often be seen in Pyke going about duties that were usually reserved for serving wenches, which made it much easier to bear. Alla was in reality Theon’s wife only in name.

“If it is not that, my lady, then is it safe for me to assume that you were hoping to get a good private time with your dear lord husband?” Theon teased her, getting closer to her and stroking her hair gently.

“Aye, I was,” she confessed, smiling. “But we are still not alone: we have Rodrik to think of. And I don’t think it would be wise for us to make love now, even if we were completely alone.”

“Why?” Theon held her hand and led her to the bed, probably hoping to convince her.

“Because I am with child,” she replied at once.

“What?” He asked, startled. “Are you positive?”

“Yes, I am. It has been over two moon turns since my last moon blood.”

In fact, she had not bled for about three months now. She had wanted to wait just until she was certain to tell him, but then they had received the queen’s invitation to the tourney. She had never been to a tournament before, as they were rare in the North and even rarer in the Iron Islands, and she had wished to see one since she was a child. As Sansa knew that her lord husband would never let her travel to King’s Landing if he knew she was carrying his baby, she had resolved not to tell him until they were there. Now it seemed to be as good a moment as any other.

“Are you pleased?” Sansa asked him after he said nothing for a very long moment.

“I am not pleased,” he replied. For just one second she was baffled, thinking that he was angry at her. But then she remembered that Theon was never actually angry at her. “I am delighted,” he said. He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately, while she caressed his soft and familiar dark hair with her fingers. They started to breathe hard and they pulled each other closer in their embrace. Sansa could see Theon’s desire in his eyes, and she also wanted to go on. She wanted him to free her of her nightgown and love her until she could not stop herself from moaning, but they couldn’t, not if it could hurt the baby. She pulled gently away and Theon let go, lying down on his back next to her.

As she tried to sleep, Sansa thought that it would be hard to abstain from the pleasures of legitimate love for the six remaining months of her pregnancy. And it was going to be even more frustrating for Theon: he was a man, after all, and he didn’t have a baby inside him to exhaust him and weaken his desire. She could not ask him to remain celibate for such a long time. She turned to him, who had now closed his eyes and was also trying unsuccessfully to get to sleep. She fondled his chest and from there she went down, feeling his marked, tensed muscles over his smallclothes. He groaned.

“Sansa, please… Stop it…” he begged, but she knew he wanted her to do just the opposite.

“Hush, love. Everything is fine,” she reassured him. She then got to his cock and was not in the least surprised to find he was hard. He was about to protest again, but then she held it in her hands and started to move it slowly up and down. He gasped. In a second, his hands were holding hers, guiding her and speeding the pace. He moaned, but she hushed him, reminding him that the baby was sleeping in the very room. When his release came he was careful to muffle his scream.

“Oh, you are amazing, my love,” he panted. “Thank you.”

“You have nothing to thank me for, as long as you remain a faithful and loving husband to me,” she whispered to him.

“I swear by the Drowned God that I will.”

“I am glad to hear that. I would not mind if you called Alla to your bed while I am pregnant,” she allowed, “but after that I expect to receive your exclusive devotion again.”

“Fear not, my sweet lady: I would never content myself with the light of a candle while I can have the sun shining down over me.”

She smiled of happiness at her husband’s praise. He kissed her one last time, clumsily trying to find her mouth in the dark. When they finally pulled apart she whispered ‘good night, my love’ on his ear, and he replied the same. Finally, they both closed their eyes and tried to sleep.

The following day they joined Bran, Meera and Rickon to watch the tilts. Robb and Roslin had stayed in Winterfell, as their third child was due in mere days, and Arya was going to joust, so she didn’t sit with them. Bran and Rickon asked about her, because they didn’t know the identity of the mystery knight yet, and Meera simply told them that she stayed in bed because she had a headache. But the truth was finally revealed when the Knight of the Faceless Tree was called to ride against Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen.

The prince was remarkably good-looking and was said to be a highly intelligent young man. It had puzzled Sansa that he had agreed to be his aunt’s heir when his claim was better than hers, but Theon had pointed out to her that the dragons and the largest army was Daenerys’, and that Aegon had had to accept her terms to make the alliance. The queen had refused to marry her nephew and decided to name him her heir, which made sense if you believed the rumors that said she was barren. Now Prince Aegon had married his cousin, Princess Arianne Martell, and she was pregnant with his first child.

The prince of Dragonstone needed to break only one lance to unhorse the Knight of the Faceless Tree. He bid his opponent take off his helmet and reveal himself, and Arya obeyed nonchalantly, provoking a great silence that lasted for several moments, until Sansa started clapping. Meera, Theon and her brothers soon imitated her, and then many other people cheered too. The prince looked confused and amazed, and it took him some time to react and shake hands with Arya. She dedicated a small curtsy to him that made everybody laugh and then went to her family, while Aegon stared at her wide-eyed.

“Arya! Why didn’t you tell us it was you?” Bran asked her, shocked and somewhat offended.

“I thought you wouldn’t want to let me defend you, so I did it without asking you first. But don’t worry: I never said it was your honor I was fighting for. I only told Lord Bolton that his squires had bullied a friend of mine. The only ones who know are us and the Walders themselves.

“Thank you for that, Arya,” said Bran. “I can’t wait for the archery contest, though. There they will see that I can fight too.”

The jousts continued for several hours and the archery contest came next. There were fifty participants and many of them were good, but Theon and Bran were among the best. Bran was the youngest; the only one who was not yet a man. He did not get to the final distance, but he lost when there were only 5 competitors left. He was very pleased with the result, and all of the family congratulated him. Theon won the first place, and the entire crowd cheered his name.

That night at the feast the Starks sat together as usual. They talked merrily about the day’s events and tried to foresee who would win the tourney. Ser Jorah Mormont of the Kingsguard seemed a likely winner but the prince was doing well too, and there was also Lady Brienne, who was a renowned fighter. She had been their mother’s sworn shield until her second wedding, so the Starks knew her and rooted for her.

“I would love it if Brienne won. It would be very funny to see who she crowns as Queen of Love and Beauty,” Rickon confessed, making all of them laugh.

“It would be amusing,” Arya conceded. “Mother told me that she was betrothed once, but her betrothed wanted her to be meek, obedient and ladylike. She told him she was not going to obey anyone who couldn’t defeat her in battle, so he took her challenge and failed, and the betrothal was cancelled. I wish I could do the same to my betrothed, but Robb would send me to the silent sisters if I did. He is still angry because I spurned Elmar Frey.”

“Well, maybe I can do it for you,” Bran offered. “You have made the Walders pay for mocking me, so I might very well help you too. I am not a good jouster, but for what we know of him, I think Lord Robert will be even worse. And I can’t get sent to the silent sisters as a punishment if I cancelled your betrothal.”

“You stop that right now!” Sansa scolded them, feeling that she should try to make some order as the eldest of the family present. “Arya, your betrothal is not a punishment: Lord Robert is our cousin, he is the lord of a great house of Westeros and he is almost of your age. He is as good a match as Robb could find for you, and it would be only fair that you gave him a chance. Or do you wish to remain alone and unmarried forever?”

“That’s right,” Theon took her side. “And Bran, even if you could make him fall off his horse, I have heard that he has a disgusting taste for throwing his enemies out of the Moon Door, which is said to be much higher than Winterfell’s Broken Tower.”

Bran grew pale and quiet after that, probably remembering the tragic incident that had crippled him for life. Sansa gave Theon a harsh look, and he looked down somewhat ashamed of himself and muttered an apology that only she could hear. They ate in silence for some minutes until the dances began. Theon invited her to the first piece and they had a great time together, as they were both fond of dancing. After the third piece, however, Sansa told her husband that she wished to leave, as she was starting to feel tired; the pregnancy was taking its toll on her. They went back to their table to say goodbye to the rest of the family and were surprised to find that Arya was gone. Sansa asked about her.

“She is over there, dancing with the prince,” replied Lady Meera, gesturing to them. Sansa saw that they were talking and laughing. “I do really hope it will not mean anything; I would never forgive myself if Robert’s Rebellion happened again and I was to blame.”

“Don’t worry, Lady Meera,” Theon reassured her. “A dance usually means nothing. Prince Aegon must be smart enough not to make his father’s mistakes; he knows how it all ended. And even if he was dumb enough to abduct Arya, Robert Arryn is not like Robert Baratheon was. The rebellion will not happen again.”

Everyone accepted Theon’s arguments willingly: they made sense, and no one wanted to worry about things that were unlikely to happen. The lord and lady of the Iron Islands said good night to the Starks and went back to their room, where they found that their son was already sleeping soundly in his cradle. But the following day the crown prince Aegon Targaryen won the tourney after defeating Ser Jorah Mormont, and all their innocent confidence died away the moment he rode past Princess Arianne and stopped by Arya, leaving the crown of winter roses on her lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end, at last. I hope you liked it!


End file.
